


Victor and Foxtrot

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Foxtrot [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Dollhouse - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: Stargate Atlantis/any fandom with present or past military, John Sheppard + any, (randomly) meeting someone he has worked with in the past or otherwise crossed paths with.</p><p>Set Season 5, post The Queen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victor and Foxtrot

Lorne's new passive-aggressive method for forcing John to learn the names of the newest wave of military forces for the Expedition was simple: every time John asked Lorne to complete a task that Lorne had regularly performed but was more properly performed by a lowly marine, Lorne would send a brand new lowly marine in his place. Said marine typically happened to be one of the ones whose personnel files were mysteriously queued up on John's data pad first thing in the morning, which John refused to read on sheer principle.  
  
Lorne only had himself to blame. If he weren't so efficient and considerate, John wouldn't have gotten used to someone else bringing him mid-afternoon snacks or running patrol and inventory reviews. He was capable of performing all of those tasks, but he didn't like doing them. While Lorne was helpful, he was also an enabler. Woolsey had made a pointed comment about troop morale, how the lower ranks needed to feel like their commander knew them and cared about them (John was pretty sure Teldy had ratted him out after that mission to the planet with Michael's leftover experiments), so Lorne had instituted his new getting-to-know-you regimen.  
  
John was muddling his way through a mission report, trying to explain how supportive he'd been of Teyla impersonating a Wraith Queen, when there was a knock at the door. Mid-afternoon snack, right on schedule.  
  
"Good afternoon, sir."  
  
John lifted his head, startled by the familiar voice.  
  
The young man in the doorway had an Eastern European cast to his features but a regular American accent. The name on his uniform was Ceccoli. Originally in the Army, had done a tour in Afghanistan, re-enlisted as a marine, was a sergeant. John knew that from a briefing with Lorne - Ceccoli was a candidate for a gate team. But when John looked the man in the eye, he was assaulted with two sets of memories.  
  
The first set belonged to John Sheppard when he was sitting in an airport on the way home from Afghanistan after the disaster with Holland. An army kid had plunked down next to him, the two of them exhausted and culture-shocked and hunkered down together against the well-meaning platitudes and gratitude from strangers who noticed their uniforms. What's your name? John had asked. Anthony Ceccoli, the kid had said. They'd exchanged information about their respective postings, jobs. The kid had lost most of his platoon to a roadside bomb. He looked as haunted as John felt.  
  
The second set of memories belonged to Foxtrot, because the man standing before him was Victor.  
  
They stared at each other, and John recognized the flinch, the jolt, the forced pause as two sets of memories battled it out behind his eyes.  
  
Ceccoli managed to get the tray of food onto the desk before he dropped it.  
  
"Thanks," John said hoarsely.  
  
"Welcome, sir," Ceccoli said, voice equally raw. He rubbed his wrist absently; he wore a wristband just like John's, and John was sure he knew what was underneath it.  
  
They didn't exchange any small talk, any getting-to-know-you banter. Ceccoli fled, and John spent the rest of the afternoon fending off a migraine. When Lorne swung by later to drop off some requisition forms a well-meaning engineer had filled out by hand, he said,  
  
"Did you know, Ceccoli can play the violin?"  
  
John suspected Ceccoli couldn't but one of his other imprints could. He said, "That's pretty cool. Did he bring his instrument, do you know?" The guitar that belonged to John Sheppard hadn't been played often or well for a long time, until the second year of the expedition. One of the imprints inside John had been a singer-songwriter, and as much as it felt like cheating, sometimes John would play some of his songs. Music was therapeutic, or so Heightmeyer had always said. John had always wanted to play with someone else.  
  
"I don't know," Lorne said, "but I bet the archivist has one in his common supplies somewhere. I should ask. Anthony seems like a good kid. A little lonely. Saw some crap in Afghanistan."  
  
"He came to the wrong place if he wanted to avoid crap," John muttered.  
  
Lorne wagged a warning finger at him. "Be nice, sir. See you later." He fired off a textbook salute and ducked back out of the office.  
  
As soon as John was alone, Atlantis caressed the edges of his mind. Do not worry, she said, I will fix him too.

As it turned out, he didn't need fixing.


End file.
